Chapter Thirteen

Matt

 

Scraping the remnants of his meal-a depressing porridge thing-he tossed the clay bowl, sending it clattering against the narrow metallic bars that made his door. His stomach growled loudly in protest, he was still so hungry.

Oil lanterns set at intervals in the somber stone hall cast shadows more than light through the bars and into the small square cell. As ever, Matt wrinkled his nose at the staleness of the air. Always dank and cold, the dungeons were a vast structure of halls and cells built underneath the castle’s keep.

They were allowed two meals and one bowl of water a day.

A fresh arrival of prisoners had been brought in earlier; some screaming and thrashing as the guards dragged them along, others numb, almost complacent"too high on sleeper’s fix to care, Matt guessed.  

Right now things were calm.

“Please stop telling them to give me half your portions,” came his sister’s voice from the cell across the hall.

He could see her through the bars, though not so clearly in the feeble light. Moira looked a bit like him; same copper hair, pale skin, blue eyes, though the shape of her face was rounder and more freckles dotted her cheeks.

Matt’s reply was stern. “You’re pregnant. You need it.”

He had languished in these forsaken dungeons nearly four months now, ever since the army’s gloomy return from Treon; the broad black magic scar on his chest, proof of his transgression, discovered on the way back.

The hateful queen ordered Moira’s arrest a week or two after, along with their mother, when it became clear Matt wouldn’t talk, not even under torture, without some kind of incentive.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Moira said, her tone lacking conviction.

“You always had a flat stomach before,” Matt replied, “and I highly doubt you gained weight from eating bloody porridge every day.”

Plus her breasts had swelled, she hadn’t gotten her bleedings, and there had been morning sickness. He was a soldier, not a healer, but even he knew to recognize those signs.

What had Matt so bitter was that the father of his sister’s child was a rapist.

It had been done following the queen’s order. Not that Matt cared; he had plenty enough hatred in store for both Tessa Nightvale and his sister’s abuser.

Kemon Clay.

Never one to waste a chance to be of service, Kemon was also the one to catch sight of Matt’s scar. Of course Kemon proudly told his father, witnesses in tow, all too aware of Tomas Clay’s duty to report the incident to the queen.

Ever the rivals, Matt and Kemon had trained hard at the Barracks over the years, proving their worth with a sword, competing for the captain’s admiration and pride"but Matt had never hated him before, not like this.  

Now he knew the truth. Kemon only cared for himself and his stupid, silly, lifelong infatuation for the pretty princess. If Matt didn’t hate him so much, he might pity the guy, for now he knew about Tessa’s penchant to open her legs for Kemon’s father.

In her cell Moira stirred, leaning herself against her bars.

“Arthur?” she called. “What are they up to?”

Whenever things were calm, and no guards patrolled nearby, Arthur filled them in on what he was hearing through his demon"a bat named Fang, Arthur said, roaming the castle’s keep out of boredom, hiding in corners, becoming invisible should prying eyes come its way.

Locked up in the cell next to Matt’s, Arthur couldn’t see him, but they could talk through the wall.

“They’re in the council room,” the old man said.

His presence here often caused Matt to feel a twinge of guilt, it was his fault after all.

I bet you regret taking my coin and healing my eyes now…

Nothing had done it, in the beginning; he wouldn’t sell Arthur out. Not even his mother’s illness-she’d been sick for a long time, her imprisonment just accelerated things, and Arthur was a dear friend of hers. She wouldn’t let Matt talk.

The only silver lining; their mother had passed away before she could see her daughter get raped.

That had done it, them hurting his sister. Matt had talked then, given them Arthur’s identity. What other choice did he have?

 “It appears Tomas Clay isn’t present today, we’re not hearing him,” Arthur recounted.

Surely proud of herself for Arthur’s arrest"yet another black mage rotting in her dungeons, great work indeed"the queen had ironically doomed herself by doing so, her darkest secrets revealed one by one thanks to a little bat watching from the shadows.

Using magic, Arthur could see whatever Fang saw, hear what he heard"a bat’s eyes might not be very good, but apparently his ears worked just fine.

“The Azurian is there,” Arthur went on, “Myzian… Let’s see… The twins got there late today. Their mother expresses her disquiet at that…”

Brief laughter pealed from Moira’s lips. Sadly, Matt thought, this sort of thing had become their only source of entertainment.

 “Now they are discussing the usual topics. The wedding between the queen and Myzian… The priest mentions reopened commerce routes and profits…”

Arthur droned on like this for a time, Matt spacing out. He loathed Tessa anyway, why should he care who she married herself to?

After locking him up the queen confiscated all of Matt’s personal belongings, including a pretty drawing of his mother and sister which he always kept in his pocket. Perhaps she’d given the drawing to her guards upon sending them to arrest both women.

In all his time here Matt never uttered a request, save for one. He just asked for the drawing back.

Jaden had made that drawing.

They were sixteen, had a few days off"rare occurrence while in training at the Barracks. All the boys went home but Jaden didn’t want to go back to the castle and his deranged mother. So Matt took him to the Bayou to visit his mother and sister. One of his fondest memories.

Tessa never gave him the drawing back.

“Now they discuss the unusual activity in the town of Sashay Hills,” Arthur was saying. “The militia representative warns the queen of possible coming protests, he suspects these people are supporters of Matt…”

“Wait, what?” Matt’s ears pricked at this.

Arthur’s response didn’t come.

“Well?” Moira insisted, resting her forehead against two thin metal bars.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur’s voice said through the wall, “they didn’t discuss it much after all. The queen dismissed it as unimportant.”

Hope was a dangerous feeling, Matt thought, but damn, it was good to feel it again.

Dismiss it all you want, Tessa Nightvale. But I know all your secrets. All your lies.

If folks out there were already pissed off, then all he needed to do was light a fire under their asses.

“If we could just get out of here,” Matt said, leaning his head against the cool stone wall.

For Moira, too. They needed to get out for Moira.

And for Jaden. He missed him with a painful, constant longing but it wasn’t even just about that.

The people of Fellera deserved the truth. If Jaden wouldn’t tell them, then Matt would.

Moira’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know, brother. I know.”

Matt’s words caught in his throat. What could he say to her?

Then, slowly, quietly, almost too quiet for Matt to hear on the other side of the wall, Arthur’s voice came again: “I might have a way to get us out.” 

Author's Note

Sometimes when I use dashes in the text I've noticed that they change to quotation marks when I save and publish the chapter. I try to catch them all and edit but I'm sorry if I miss some.